The Mystery Megapack

had been raised Presbyterian, like Mom, but with a fine appreciation for the gift-oriented Jewish holidays—we always celebrated the first night of Hanukkah at Mom and Dad’s. Odder still was Mom’s insistence on coming over early in the afternoon. Hanukkah didn’t start until sundown, and I couldn’t imagine Mom really wanted to hang out for several hours in my rented townhouse in my “bad” neighborhood.
    Still, shortly after lunch, Mom and Dad arrived. Mom made a beeline for my Christmas tree. She stood silent, arms folded, studying it. I had just strung up the colored lights and a few glittering ornaments the night before. It looked great.
    “Honestly, Gwen,” Mom finally said. “Why must you pick the scruffiest, most pathetic tree every year? It’s like you try to embarrass me.” She walked over to the window and pulled the curtains closed so the neighbors wouldn’t have to suffer seeing my tree.
    Stung, I went downstairs to take some deep breaths and dig out my menorah. I found no leftover candles. Fabulous! I could escape to the market to buy a box. I’d need two candles for tonight, three for tomorrow, and so on for the eight nights of Hanukkah. I always liked saying the prayers and lighting the candles. It made me feel peaceful.
    Focusing on staying calm, I returned to the living room, and my eyes nearly bugged out. Mom was directing two delivery men to move my love seat to a corner and set a big box in its place.
    “What’s going on?” I asked.
    “Surprise!” Mom waved her hand at the box like the girls from The Price is Right do. “Happy Hanukkah.” She nodded at the workmen, and they pulled apart the box to reveal … oh my Lord. A treadmill. “It’s for snowy days when you can’t get to the gym this winter,” she said.
    I felt a major migraine coming on, and I never got migraines.
    I stood dumbfounded while the workmen set up the treadmill. I still hadn’t said a word by the time they left.
    “Don’t give me that look, Gwen,” Mom said. “Once I saw that sweat suit on you, I knew you wouldn’t wear it out of the house. Now you have no excuse not to put it on. Come, Henry, let’s go home and give Gwen a chance to try out her present.”
    “What?” I shook my head. “What about lighting the candles tonight?”
    Mom scrunched her eyebrows, confused. “We’re not actually going to do that here, Gwen. We’ll light the candles at home, as always. I’ll expect you before sundown.” She pushed Dad toward the door, then turned to look at the treadmill. “And by the way, you’re welcome.”
    * * * *
    The next night, after lighting the candles at home, I thought back to Thanksgiving and realized I now had something family-oriented to be thankful for. I wouldn’t have to see Mom or Becca for three whole weeks, when we’d all have Christmas Eve dinner at Becca’s.
    I had twenty-one blissful, family-free days to look forward to. Happy, I wrote some holiday cards to old friends while a batch of sugar cookies baked in the oven.
    My happiness didn’t last long. The next morning, Mom showed up at my school. She’d never expressed any interest in my job before. I had just finished meeting with a parent and was showing her out when Mom practically swaggered into the school office.
    “Gwen,” she interrupted. “I have the most fantastic news!”
    Please be moving to Florida.
    Mom looked around until she was sure she had the attention of the secretaries, my vice-principal, and a student who was in the room, as well as the departing parent and myself. Then she clapped her hands together. “Your brother-in-law, the doctor,” she said, emphasizing the word, like I didn’t know Joe’s profession, “has been chosen to play a very prominent rebel in the next Patriots’ Day re-enactment.”
    Wow. I had grown up in nearby Lexington, home of the American Revolution, and its Patriots’ Day re-enactment each April was a big deal around here. Being asked to play any important position was a great honor for Joe, who deserved it both for being a nice guy and for putting up with my sister.
    Everyone oohed and ahhed appropriately. Mom beamed.
    “Your sister certainly hit the jackpot with her husband,” she said, picking lint off my suit jacket. “It’s such a shame you don’t have a man in your life, darling. Or any prospects. Maybe if you actually used that treadmill …”
    I looked for a hole in the floor to crawl into.
    “Anyway,” Mom continued. “Becca is planning a